Tuesday afternoon, my brother's wife went into labor. It was a long and difficult birth: the baby was "sunny side up," and after eighteen hours of no "progress," the doctor began to suggest other birth options. He gave her one more hour: if she didn't "progress" after sixty more minutes, it would be time to re-think things. It was a scary moment for everyone.
For some reason, I decided to go to yoga. I needed to calm the hell down and clear my head. It wasn't pretty, I was distracted and tired and thinking of my sister with every breath that I took, but it helped. At the end of class, everyone said three Oms to welcome the new baby into the world. I was surprisingly overcome: crying in yoga class, check. Never thought I'd be that girl. Whatever. It was so beautiful, the day actually seemed warmer and brighter when I stepped outside.
Minutes after class, I got a text from my mom. The baby had just flipped, and my sister was pushing. The end was in sight! I drove to the hospital like a crazy woman, and made a sweaty, stinky first impression on my beautiful niece. She is so lovely, and fuzzy, and loud. Even the doctor said, That girl is going to be a firecracker!
Now, you can believe what you like. I don't know what to make of the whole baby-turning-right-at-the-moment-we-were-Om-ing. I guess I don't really care. She's here, she's beautiful, and my sister was lucky enough to have exactly the kind of welcome-to-the-world experience she had hoped for. In short, she's a warrior. They both are.
The world is a strange and beautiful place. That's all I know.